


The One with the Holiday Card

by cherrywinecrowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And I realize it’s august, But I wrote it anyway I hope you guys like it!, Fluff, I’ve noticed my ocs tend to pick on Crowley, Oneshot, a somewhat Christmas/holiday themed fic, also a few Friends references here or there, and crowley pulls a crowley and ends up needing to apologize, aziraphale wants to do couple stuff, light humor, some original characters - Freeform, which is kinda funny to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 16:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrywinecrowley/pseuds/cherrywinecrowley
Summary: Aziraphale wants to send out a holiday card after receiving one from Anathema and Newt. Crowley thinks it’s a really stupid idea.





	The One with the Holiday Card

“Oh Crowley, look!”

Crowley’s newspaper is suddenly taken from his hands and is replaced with a glossy 5x7 postcard. The front of the card displays a picture of Anathema and Newt, who are standing in front of a Christmas tree with their arms wrapped around each other. The lovebirds are wearing green and red striped sweaters and Anathema has a Santa hat on, even though it’s slightly askew. For some reason Newt is wearing antlers but no other accessory to complete a reindeer get up. “Happy Holidays!” is written in a wavy white font in the corner of the card. Crowley flips to the backside, where Anathema has scrawled out a lovely message for the two of them. 

It’s pleasant, he supposes.

“Right on, very well,” he says with an air of boredom, handing the card back to Aziraphale, “Nice card.”

“It’s a holiday card Crowley,” Aziraphale explains, although Crowley doesn’t need an explanation. “It’s our first holiday card we’ve ever received!”

“Shall I phone the prime minister and let him know of our joyous news? Maybe we’ll get a parade out of the whole ordeal.” Crowley drawls.

“You old fiend,” Aziraphale snaps, albeit with a bit of fondness in his voice. “I’m going to display it on the front desk.” 

“Go right ahead angel.” 

Crowley picks up the newspaper and starts leafing through it again, and for a few moments all is well. It’s not until he’s halfway through the weather forecasts for the week that he hears the angel’s voice again.

“Crowley, we should make a holiday card.” Aziraphale says excitedly. 

The demon lets out a snort and hides his laughter behind the newspaper. It’s a poor attempt, really, because Aziraphale huffs and stomps his way over to the table, snatching the newspaper out of his hands for the second time. “And what’s so funny?”

“You, thinking I’d ever do that.” Crowley laughs, wiping at his eyes. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny Crowley!” Aziraphale says petulantly. “I would like to do this!”

“Look Aziraphale you know I’m not fond of the holiday cheer business-“ Crowley begins to plead his case but is interrupted by Aziraphale.

“That’s not true! You buy me presents!”

“Bound by contractual obligations. Pretty sure it was in my wedding vows.” Crowley says quickly, reaching for the newspaper again. Aziraphale moves it out of his reach. 

“Well I know that every Christmas you personally deliver toys during the Toys for Tots drive.” Aziraphale counters smugly. 

“And I know you cheat in Scrabble but I’m not telling the world all of your deep dark secrets! Keep your voice down!” Crowley hisses. He looks around the room and squints at an elderly man asleep in an armchair. 

He better not have heard anything. 

“Crowley, I’d really like to do this!” Aziraphale says again, looking at Crowley with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

“And I’d really like to actually finish the damn newspaper but we don’t always get what we want do we angel?” Crowley muses. He laughs again when Aziraphale flings the paper down onto the table and walks away, to the back room and out of sight. 

Crowley takes the opportunity to read through the rest of the paper while Aziraphale sulks in the other room. It’s not until the shop is painfully silent that he finally stands up from where he’s sitting and makes his way over to the doorway. He leans against the frame and can’t help but smile at the way his angel is stewing in his seat. He looks quite put out, but also very adorable at the same time. 

“Love, I’m stepping out for awhile.” Crowley says as he balances back and forth on his tip toes, waiting for a reaction.

What he gets in response is a dismissive wave. Aziraphale pushes up his glasses and glares down at the book in front of him.

Crowley saunters over to the desk and bends down to kiss Aziraphale on the cheek. He’s inches away from his face when the angel turns in his swivel chair so his back is to him.

“No.” Aziraphale says flatly.

“No?” Crowley asks, slightly amused.

“No.” Aziraphale repeats, crossing his arms. “No kisses.” 

“Really now?” Crowley smiles and bends down to try again, only to be met with Aziraphale turning in another direction. The adorable factor is starting to wear thin.

“No.” Aziraphale says again, this time more firmly.

“Aziraphale you’ve got to be kidding me. Just turn around you great big prune.” Crowley says, now clearly annoyed. 

“No.” The angel replies, turning from him once again. 

“Oh, piss off then!” Crowley snaps, turning on his heels and storming off towards the front of the shop. He yanks the door open and slams it closed, the bell to the shop shaking violently with the motions of the door. Aziraphale sighs and sets his book down. He stands up and makes his way over to the front desk and takes the card in his hands again. 

It would be nice to have something like this, Aziraphale thinks to himself. He knows there’s not many people who would actually receive their card and he wouldn’t make Crowley put on a little get-up if he really didn’t want to. But after 6,000 years of pining and restraint, it would be wonderful to have more tangible evidence of their love. It’s a shame that Crowley doesn’t want to give him that. 

Aziraphale sets the card back down and grabs a few books before turning off the lights in the shop. He locks the door with a quick wave of the hand and sets about retiring for the evening. 

Crowley returns later that night with a bouquet of wildflowers. It’s only a little shameful, he decides, to return to your home late at night with hat in hand to mumble some half assed apology to the love of your life. He admits his reaction was a bit much. But he bristled at the idea because it seems like a lot of effort for one measly photo. They take lots of pictures all the time! Aziraphale even insisted on creating a few social media accounts to post some of his favorites. Why hire a human to dress them up in silly things and make them pose every which way for a few hours for a card that would maybe find its way into two or three mailboxes? 

He trods up the steps to the flat above the shop and knocks on their bedroom door. 

No response.

Sighing, Crowley pushes the door open and holds up the flowers. Aziraphale is clad in his striped pajamas and matching cap and his glasses are perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t look up from the novel he’s currently reading. Instead he licks his finger and turns the page. 

“Angel, I brought you flowers.” Crowley states the obvious and shakes the bouquet, ignoring the petals that scatter to the floor. He places them in a vase and fills it with water by snapping his fingers. Crowley tentatively steps over towards Aziraphale and places them on his nightstand. 

The angel can sense Crowley standing there expectantly, waiting for a huge surge in his mood. Instead, Aziraphale settles for a quick smile and a “thank you dear” before returning to his book. It’s one he’s read dozens of times but he’s focusing on it like it’s brand new. 

“I’m sorry angel.” He says, but that’s really all there is to it. And it’s clearly not enough for Aziraphale, who doesn’t acknowledge his words whatsoever. 

Crowley slinks over to his side of the bed. He feels utterly defeated as he lays down on top of the sheets. A moment of peace goes by before the bed suddenly starts to move. Crowley grips onto the sides of the mattress and looks around with wide eyes as Aziraphale seems to be moving further and further away from him (although he continues to read, unperturbed by any of the shaky movements). 

And then it becomes abundantly clear that Aziraphale has taken their bed and split it into two full size mattresses. Even the duvet cover shrinks to meet the requirements of the smaller beds. Crowley’s mouth is agape and Aziraphale snaps his book shut before turning to look at him, unfazed by the incredulous look on the demon’s face. 

The bastard is positively grinning from ear to ear. 

“Goodnight dear.” He says cheerily before dimming the lights and settling in for the night.

Crowley doesn’t sleep.

It’s apparent that Crowley doesn’t sleep because his golden eyes are itchy and red the next morning. Even though he doesn’t need sleep, he likes it enough that he’s gotten used to it and he’s utterly miserable without a good eight or nine hours of it. And Aziraphale must really be angry because he’s never gone, well...full Moses on their rickety bed frame before.

That’s a good analogy, he decides. 

When Crowley turns to look over at the angel, he’s met with a view of an empty bed. He groans loudly before standing up and stomping his way downstairs. 

The fact that this situation wasn’t resolved within a day was very irritating to him. Flowers were supposed to work! They always do in the movies! 

It only takes a minute for him to register that Aziraphale isn’t there. And there’s no note left for him either. 

The shop is closed, even though it isn’t supposed to be. In fact, today is the day that his customers expect the most consistent amount of hours. He hears a couple of taps on the wooden doors and a catches a few glimpses of eyes peering through the blinds. Against his better judgement, Crowley walks over to the door and opens it.

“Hi,” He says abruptly to three older women who look like they used to sit for oil paintings, “We’re actually-“

“Open!” One of them says with a shrill tone to her voice. “You’re open! Says so on the sign!”

“Well look, we have the rights to change hours when needed, and I’m not even the owner of this bloody place.” Crowley says defensively. A black ankled boot wedges its way in the doorframe to hold it open.

“Mr. Fell ALWAYS lets us come at this time for our book club! Always! And if you don’t let us in I will file a complaint with him!” Another one chitters away in the background and waves her book threateningly at him.

This causes him to stop and think for a moment. He’s already in enough trouble with the angel as it is. If these women do have the nerve to rat him out (and they all seem more than capable of doing the job) then he probably shouldn’t do anything to get on their bad side.

And that is how Crowley ends up manning the front counter of A.Z Fell and Co. for the afternoon, waiting on Doris, Delilah and Martha as they occupy one of the velvet couches for the better part of three hours. They demand freshly brewed tea (“Strong!” Martha barks at him, “Mr. Fell brews it for five and a half minutes exactly and I will be able to tell if it’s overdone!”) and biscuits with clotted cream, and they also mention that dear old Mr. Fell often joins their conversations. And so Crowley finds himself perched on an ottoman, vehemently defending F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books while the women talk over him, bits of biscuit flying out from their mouths when they get really worked up about something.

Aziraphale comes home to Crowley threatening a young man with the edge of the broomstick.

“Why put them out if you don’t want to sell them?” The man says, utterly exasperated.

“I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.” Crowley says darkly. “Put the book back and walk away.” He prods him in the chest with the broomstick and makes a shooing gesture with his hand. The offended customer mumbles something about a leaving a bad yelp review and Crowley yells at him to do his worst. The door locks as soon as he leaves, and Crowley turns his attention to Aziraphale.

If he wasn’t so mad at him, Aziraphale would be all over Crowley right now. He’s wearing an apron (although it’s untied) and there’s a pencil tucked behind his ear. He’s covered in dust and he can tell the Soho Sisters stopped by today because there are tea bags and crumbs scattered across one of the coffee tables. Crowley REALLY wanted to patch things up with him, he could tell. But he wasn’t going to let him take the easy way out. Crowley needed to talk to him, this mess needed to be fixed with a conversation. And Aziraphale knew that Crowley was going to avoid that at all costs.

“Busy day?” Aziraphale says, gesturing around the bookshop. 

“It was!” Crowley groans, wiping sweat from his brow. “How do you do this? It’s ridiculous. One of the old birds almost choked three times and I had to keep running over there.”

“It’s definitely a labor of love.” Aziraphale says with a twinkle in his eye. He moves past Crowley and starts to head upstairs, but the demon calls out to him.

“Really? That’s all I get? A quick conversation, no thank you or anything?” Crowley says, waving his arms around in annoyance.

“Well my dear, thank you for looking after things while I spent the day out. But as you have inferred I am still quite cross with you. So yes, that’s all you get.” Aziraphale states politely.

“When are you gonna stop being mad at me?” A childish question, but a relevant one, Crowley thinks.

“I haven’t decided.” Aziraphale says, looking off as if he’s truly giving thought to the idea of a timeframe. 

“Are you sentencing me?” Crowley asks with disbelief. 

“Now there’s an idea.” Aziraphale smirks, and the angel disappears from view. 

It only gets worse from there. In fact, it gets much much worse because Crowley comes to the realization he hasn’t had kisses in six days. And after not having any sort of affection for thousands of years, forgoing them for almost an entire week was hell. It wasn’t literally Hell because there were no broken, leaky pipes or the rancid smell that always permeated the air when Hastur was around, but it was a figurative hell. The latter was definitely worse, Crowley decides. 

“I hate Newt!” Crowley bellows into his empty bedroom, “the bastard ruined my life!”

And that gives life to an idea. An idea that has Crowley barreling down freeways at over 90mph until he’s far from the busy streets of London and closer to the green countryside that surrounds Lower Tadfield. He slams his car door and marches up to Newt and Anathema’s cottage, knocking on the door repeatedly until he hears the sound of apprehensive footsteps. 

“Hello?” Newt says groggily. He scratches at the hair on his chest and tugs up the waistband to his sweats. He was clearly not expecting any visitors. 

Crowley points a finger at him through the screen door. “You are actively ruining my life.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve actively done anything in my life.” Newt says with no evidence of sarcasm in his voice. “You want to come in?”

Crowley looks up at the horseshoe above the door and lets out a hiss. “Can’t, I’m afraid. You’re going to have to step out.”

“Right, of course.” Newt mumbles, stepping out into the warm English sunlight. Most people would’ve said no. Most people would’ve shut the door on this man (creature? thing? Newt couldn’t remember) and went right back to bed. But then again, Newt is never in control of what goes on around him. And so he pads over to the bench behind his house and looks up at Crowley. “What can I do for you, again?”

“Answer some questions,” Crowley says, trying his best to sound intimidating. “Why did you send us a holiday card?”

“Oh,” Newt tilts his head, confused already at Crowley’s line of questioning. “Anathema was in charge of that. She sent them all out. You’d have to ask her. But she’s out visiting her mum right now back in the states.”

“Well great, that’s perfectly fantastic!” Crowley groans, kicking at some rocks in front of him. “The whole reason I’m in trouble is cause of your blasted lovey-dovey card!”

“In trouble?” Newt asks. 

“Angel wanted to do one too and I thought it was downright stupid. So I said no and now he’s not letting me kiss him or talk with him or even sleep in the same bed!” Crowley laments, plopping down on the bench next to Newt (who was truthfully still half-asleep). 

“You think I didn’t think it was stupid at first?” Newt says, laughing a little bit. “I think I’m wearing antlers in that picture. But it made Anathema happy. And I knew it was gonna make her happy so I said yes. And it ended up being a lot of fun.”

“Fun?” Crowley cocks an eyebrow. They must have wildly different views on what “fun” means. Fun is a word reserved for things like firecrackers and superglue. 

“Yeah!” Newt continues, “We made a day of it. We got coffee and we went ice skating in the morning and then we went to the photographer’s studio in the afternoon. Got spaghetti for dinner and then came home and had some wine. And honestly when I stop and think about it she does a lot for me. I know action movies aren’t her favorite thing to watch and she gets a little bored when we spend the day at Mr. Shadwell’s place but she does those things with me cause she loves me. Sometimes you gotta do stuff you might not like cause it’s gonna make him happy, y’know.”

Crowley is silent for a moment, taking all this information in. He finally turns to Newt before clasping his shoulder awkwardly, trying to show appreciation for the advice. Newt gives him a little smile in return.

“I’m not wearing the bloody antlers.” Crowley says firmly. 

Newt nods his head gravely. “Yeah, that’s a good stance to have.” 

When Crowley makes his way back to Soho, the night is just starting to turn that lovely shade of blue that precedes the presence of stars. He parks the Bentley and makes his way over to the bookshop but stops dead in his tracks when he sees Aziraphale on the front steps, talking excitedly with some stranger. He’s absolutely beaming and Crowley fidgets uncomfortably.

And then the man places his hand on the angel’s arm. 

In an instant, he vanishes. Aziraphale looks around worriedly as Crowley storms over to him, and he opens his mouth to speak but Crowley’s already starting to talk in very angry, unfinished sentences.

“Who the HELL-“ Crowley begins, flailing his arms about dramatically, “I mean REALLY angel, I know you’re angry but I’m gone for a measly afternoon and you’re chatting up some, some prat, and he’s ugly too, didn’t even see his face but the back of his head was dreadful-“

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says sternly. “Where did you send my mailman to?”

The air is sucked from Crowley’s chest and he visibly deflates. “One of the A continents. Not Antarctica though. I’ll bring him back.”

“You are unbelievable.” The angel mutters and Crowley doesn’t like that sentence when it isn’t spoken breathily after a few hours spent together in bed. He follows Aziraphale into the bookshop and says “I’m sorry.” once again. 

Aziraphale is fully prepared to continue walking away from him but Crowley isn’t finished speaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how important the card thing meant to you. As much as I love all the clever things humans do, sometimes I don’t stop to think about the little things they do for each other, and how much you might enjoy them. To me, the whole card business seemed like it was a lot of work for one photo. And I know I could do much, much more grand gestures for you to prove how much I care. But in this instance you didn't need anything grand, you just wanted something simple, and I blew it off. So I’m sorry angel, and I really mean that.”

Aziraphale looks down at his feet. The words sounded sincere, and it had been over a week now since they were on good terms. And he never enjoyed when they fought, especially now that they were together. Married bickering was one thing, but this felt like it had run its course.

“I just wanted to try it.” Aziraphale says quietly. 

Crowley walks over to him and takes his face in his hands, smoothing his cheeks out gently with his thumbs. “I know darling, I know. And after talking to Newt I’d like to try it too.”

Aziraphale looks surprised. “You spoke to Newt?”

“Yeah, I saw him earlier today. He counseled me and whatnot.” Crowley says dismissively. 

“You asked Newt for relationship advice.” 

It’s quiet for a moment before they both start laughing. Their laughter fills the room and Crowley closes the space between them, planting a tender kiss on the angel’s lips.

“Don’t tell him, but he actually knew what he was talking about.” Crowley says, nudging Aziraphale with his elbow. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” Aziraphale winks at him and extends his arm. “Come now my dear, we’ve got a bed situation to remedy.” 

The next day Crowley takes his angel out for tea because he knows he isn’t that big on coffee, but they do attempt to ice skate (attempt is the correct word to use because Crowley’s hips were not made for figure eights or even balancing on the ice to begin with), but he buys soft pretzels and cocoa from a nice vendor afterwards and they spend the day looking at holiday lights in the park. Crowley stops him under a bundle of mistletoe and smiles devilishly at him. 

“My my, what do we have here?” The demon waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Aziraphale chuckles at him. 

“Mistletoe I’m afraid.” He says warmly, smiling when Crowley takes mock offense to his comment.

The entire backdrop is picturesque. There are string lights that twinkle as they’re weaved around the pines and little drips of snow are starting to fall and gather in their hair. The two of them are bundled in winter coats, scarves, and mittens as they hold onto the cups of cocoa. Because of the cold, no one else seems to be around the stretch of sidewalk that they are currently walking on.

Except for one Mr. Newton Pulsifer, who is currently crouched behind a bush, and who is also ignoring the sounds of his poor knees cracking as he tries to bend lower to stay out of sight. He angles his camera through the leaves and snaps a picture of Crowley kissing Aziraphale lovingly on the cheek as the snow falls around them. Newt springs to his feet and haphazardly emerges from the bushes to show Crowley the photo. 

“I got it!” Newt says, waving the camera enthusiastically before nearly dropping it.

“Careful now!” Crowley hisses, taking it from his hand before glancing down at the picture. It really is lovely. 

“I’m confused.” Aziraphale tells Crowley as he cranes his neck over to see what he’s looking at. “Why is Newt taking our picture? And secretly too?” 

“Look angel,” Crowley says, beaming with pride as he extends the camera towards him, “It’s much better than any cheesy background from some studio. And it’s perfectly us too. Newt is gonna help us get them printed and we’ll each get a copy before we send any out. It’s our very own holiday card.”

Aziraphale wipes at the tears that form at the corner of his eyes. He holds the camera tenderly to his chest as he gazes down at the picture. It’s everything he wanted and more. 

“Thank you both, so much.” He finally says, his voice heavy with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

“I also brought these.” Newt pulls the reindeer antlers from the bag and hands them to Crowley. 

Crowley stares at him, his expression unreadable. 

“I told you I would NOT wear these!” He hisses, thrusting them back at Newt.

“If I had to go down, I’ve got to take somebody down with me.” Newt says unapologetically. “Put them on.”

“Yes! Oh please Crowley won’t you? Oh you’ll look splendid, it would make me so happy!” Aziraphale begs him, tugging on his sleeve. 

And as Crowley dons the stupid, felt monstrosity, and he takes in the sight of Aziraphale’s delighted grin and Newt’s somewhat sadistic smirk, there’s only one thought on his mind.

“I hate Newt. That bastard ruined my life.”


End file.
